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Old wives' tale: The Minstrel of Enil
maouw
Member, Alpha One, Adventurer
An old wive's tale from the land of Verra
======================
The Minstrel of Enil
Long ago, before the days of the great calamity, on a bright winter morning - a child was born to the Py’rai. The Py’rai rarely have offspring - they live so long - so it was the custom to present the child to the Ancient of the forest for blessing at the next new moon.
Packing their belongings, the girl’s parents set out deep into the forest, eager to celebrate the new soul with their brothers and sisters. But their journey was cut short when a star from the heavens fell to the earth, bringing destruction to their way forward - the pantheon were once again at war.
Going up to the edge of the crater, a ruin of blazing sulphur stretched out before them - as far as the eye could see and they could not cross it. Helplessly, they turned back to their home.
The child grew.
They returned the following new moon, crossing the desolation now a black charred bowl. Small shoots had sprouted around its edges. Already nature was restoring the balance, healing the earth of her scars. The moon above seemed to smile - they would arrive in good time.
That night of the new moon, the Py’rai were all abustle to meet the child. In great expectation, they presented her to the Ancient.
But the Ancient took offense. “This child has seen 2 new moons! Do you have no regard for the way of the gods?”
Her parents bowed their head, “Forgive us. Our journey was interrupted by starfire.”
“Excuses.” The Ancient replied, “Since you do not honour me, I do not honour you. Take your child and leave.”
The Py’rai bowed, “Please! Do not neglect our offspring - lest one be cursed for a century!”
The Ancient paused, looking at the child. “How shall you pay your debt? Do you have anything of value to offer?”
Alarmed, they replied, “O Ancient one, you know we are a people of the wood and the earth and the leaves. We share all of nature with everyone, and none of nature is ours to own. We do not mean to offend, but if we have caused offence we will repay it. What is the price?”
“You cannot repay it,” he replied, “your daughter will.”
He took the child and weaved a spell around her, “Child. I bless you with the beauty of the moon and the voice of the dawn - your face will be etched into the mind of any man who would witness it. Your voice will resound even when your singing has stopped.”
Bewildered, her parents looked on.
“But…” he continued, “No man shall ever have you, no mortal shall you ever wed. For you shall forever belong to me.” And with these final words he bound her soul to himself and the blessing was complete.
He returned the child. “Every new moon, you shall bring her to me for as long as you live. But when you return to the earth, she will live on as I live on. From that day on she is mine.”
The child flourished, and true to the spell, her beauty and voice bloomed. Rumors of a songstress in the forest spread among the hunters who roamed the area, and many began to venture into the woods in search of its source. Her parents were careful to hide her from strangers, but they could only do so much and it wasn’t long before a hunter caught a glimpse of her face.
Reports of a beauty in the forest spread through the land, they called her the Minstrel of Enil. The interest drew others now, countryside workers and other men.
Her parents grew concerned as more people began roaming the forests, and after a close-call where she was chased into a dark cavern - they made a decision to move their home to the protection of the Ancient of the forest.
By now, bounties for the Minstrel of Enil were issued, and masters of magic spread their spells to find out where she had gone. They found her, and quickly learned she was guarded by the ancient of the forest.
At this news the nobles took great interest - the rumours must be true if an Ancient should be her guardian. In their greed, they plotted together to slay the Ancient and auction her to the highest bidder.
Great armies entered the forest and surrounded the territory of the Ancient. With nowhere to run, the Minstrel and her parents hid in her house. The armies closed in.
It wasn’t a fair fight. The Ancient slayed thousands, but it wasn’t enough and he was overwhelmed the same day. As he lay slain on the earth, he chuckled. “Mortals. You still haven’t learned - an Ancient cannot die.”
“You may be reborn,” the nobles replied, “but the Minstrel is ours for the taking.”
“Learn your place before an immortal!” With rage he used his last breath on a different kind of magic, a magic of the Others.
The sky went black.
His body sunk into the earth and the earth began to bubble.
The trees withered.
The air stood still.
A few magicians teleported out of the forest reflexively, sensing danger.
They were the only survivors.
No one knows what happened next.
Those armies never returned.
But it didn’t end there.
The Minstrel lived on.
She wanders the forests today, lonely and wailing.
Many have heard her voice, most flee.
Some have seen her.
Captivated, they return to the forest, but are never seen again.
So beware, dear children, of wandering the forest.
Deep in the forest, you can hear her sing.
Beware the Minstrel of Enil.
======================
The Minstrel of Enil
Long ago, before the days of the great calamity, on a bright winter morning - a child was born to the Py’rai. The Py’rai rarely have offspring - they live so long - so it was the custom to present the child to the Ancient of the forest for blessing at the next new moon.
Packing their belongings, the girl’s parents set out deep into the forest, eager to celebrate the new soul with their brothers and sisters. But their journey was cut short when a star from the heavens fell to the earth, bringing destruction to their way forward - the pantheon were once again at war.
Going up to the edge of the crater, a ruin of blazing sulphur stretched out before them - as far as the eye could see and they could not cross it. Helplessly, they turned back to their home.
The child grew.
They returned the following new moon, crossing the desolation now a black charred bowl. Small shoots had sprouted around its edges. Already nature was restoring the balance, healing the earth of her scars. The moon above seemed to smile - they would arrive in good time.
That night of the new moon, the Py’rai were all abustle to meet the child. In great expectation, they presented her to the Ancient.
But the Ancient took offense. “This child has seen 2 new moons! Do you have no regard for the way of the gods?”
Her parents bowed their head, “Forgive us. Our journey was interrupted by starfire.”
“Excuses.” The Ancient replied, “Since you do not honour me, I do not honour you. Take your child and leave.”
The Py’rai bowed, “Please! Do not neglect our offspring - lest one be cursed for a century!”
The Ancient paused, looking at the child. “How shall you pay your debt? Do you have anything of value to offer?”
Alarmed, they replied, “O Ancient one, you know we are a people of the wood and the earth and the leaves. We share all of nature with everyone, and none of nature is ours to own. We do not mean to offend, but if we have caused offence we will repay it. What is the price?”
“You cannot repay it,” he replied, “your daughter will.”
He took the child and weaved a spell around her, “Child. I bless you with the beauty of the moon and the voice of the dawn - your face will be etched into the mind of any man who would witness it. Your voice will resound even when your singing has stopped.”
Bewildered, her parents looked on.
“But…” he continued, “No man shall ever have you, no mortal shall you ever wed. For you shall forever belong to me.” And with these final words he bound her soul to himself and the blessing was complete.
He returned the child. “Every new moon, you shall bring her to me for as long as you live. But when you return to the earth, she will live on as I live on. From that day on she is mine.”
The child flourished, and true to the spell, her beauty and voice bloomed. Rumors of a songstress in the forest spread among the hunters who roamed the area, and many began to venture into the woods in search of its source. Her parents were careful to hide her from strangers, but they could only do so much and it wasn’t long before a hunter caught a glimpse of her face.
Reports of a beauty in the forest spread through the land, they called her the Minstrel of Enil. The interest drew others now, countryside workers and other men.
Her parents grew concerned as more people began roaming the forests, and after a close-call where she was chased into a dark cavern - they made a decision to move their home to the protection of the Ancient of the forest.
By now, bounties for the Minstrel of Enil were issued, and masters of magic spread their spells to find out where she had gone. They found her, and quickly learned she was guarded by the ancient of the forest.
At this news the nobles took great interest - the rumours must be true if an Ancient should be her guardian. In their greed, they plotted together to slay the Ancient and auction her to the highest bidder.
Great armies entered the forest and surrounded the territory of the Ancient. With nowhere to run, the Minstrel and her parents hid in her house. The armies closed in.
It wasn’t a fair fight. The Ancient slayed thousands, but it wasn’t enough and he was overwhelmed the same day. As he lay slain on the earth, he chuckled. “Mortals. You still haven’t learned - an Ancient cannot die.”
“You may be reborn,” the nobles replied, “but the Minstrel is ours for the taking.”
“Learn your place before an immortal!” With rage he used his last breath on a different kind of magic, a magic of the Others.
The sky went black.
His body sunk into the earth and the earth began to bubble.
The trees withered.
The air stood still.
A few magicians teleported out of the forest reflexively, sensing danger.
They were the only survivors.
No one knows what happened next.
Those armies never returned.
But it didn’t end there.
The Minstrel lived on.
She wanders the forests today, lonely and wailing.
Many have heard her voice, most flee.
Some have seen her.
Captivated, they return to the forest, but are never seen again.
So beware, dear children, of wandering the forest.
Deep in the forest, you can hear her sing.
Beware the Minstrel of Enil.
I wish I were deep and tragic
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